“You’re late for the emergency executive briefing, Garrett,” Tiffany said, her voice lilting up at the end.

“The morning briefing was set for eleven,” I said, stopping three feet from the head of the table.

The older lawyer cleared his throat and slid a thick blue legal folder into the middle of the blotter.

“Mr.

Sullivan, your fiancée filed an expedited petition for temporary medical power of attorney at six thirty this morning,” he said.

I didn’t touch the blue folder.

“I haven’t seen a doctor since my annual physical in May.”